A World to Confront
by Iris-Stephenie
Summary: In a world full to the brim with Amnesia, Nilin Cartier-Wells breaks out of La Bastille thanks to the Errorists. Reaching one of their hideouts in slum 404, nilin is completely taken over by doubt, guilt and vague emotions, to an extent that she even questions Edge's ulterior motives. Nilin x Edge
1. Rebirth

**A World to Confront**

**Disclaimer:I own nothing from Remember Me! If I had, Errorists would have started a revolution AND I would have stolen your memory;)**

Episode zero: Rebirth

All of a sudden my vision is blurred and distorted. From the very beginning I knew if we, Errorists, had struck the heart of Memorize sooner, this would not have happened. We were stabbed in the back. Well, there is no time to grieve over this loss. Now I know I am going to be put through wringers. I am truly sorry Edge.

I rise to my feet; the freezing cold metal floor instantly comes into contact with my feet, sending a damp chill through my spine, quickly being transferred to my entire body as a result. My knee is heavily burned and skinned; touching a single cell of it with an outstretched palm is enough to make me scream in immense pain. The white prisoner's outfit however, does not enable me to touch it directly.

I cast my eyes around the room for something that can be worked upon; a way for escape. As I had expected, there is no escape. Well, there should not be. Apart from that, with such darkness no one is capable of observing much, but the only thing that can be deduced is the fact that this must be my cell. I pace back and forth only to come towards a holographic word which is currently glowing orange. My half-shut eyes flutter open and try to fix their gaze on it. The word flickers and starts to sharpen more a second after:

Trauma Room

It makes me jolt back in utter panic, causing me to lose my train of thoughts. What can be their definition of trauma? Besides, whatever that is, I can simply infer that it would be three times more for a memory hunter for I know how much they despise us.

The only thing that arrives is prolonged silence. I hate to acknowledge that I am particularly defenseless and vulnerable against this fate. Above all, this eerie premonition does not let me out of its tight grip.

"Memory wipe in progress."

The thumping in my heart arises with each fleeting instant as I begin to comprehend the true meaning of the illuminating orange-coloured words. Just one spark of hope is left at the moment. This cell appears to be soundproof, therefore I muster up all my remained stamina and cry out his name in utter despair

"EDGE!"

There is a creak on the walls. Nothing! No single entity reacts; it is no use. I shut my eyes because it is all over now. Goodbye Enforcers, goodbye Memorize, goodbye Errorists, goodbye memories, goodbye Nilin …

It was beautiful how we brothers and sisters accomplished glorious victories; it was beautiful how defenseless the Enforcers were while we broke into their minds. It was beautiful how we Errorists pledged allegiance and we would not stop until Memorize was on its knees. Yes, it was beautiful how Edge and I professionally cooperated.

All of it was beautiful, but now it'll be nothing more than a gust of dreams.

All of my sweet memories find their way out in the form of bitter retrospection. I shouldn't have let it happen, no I shouldn't have.

I have a feeling; a feeling like a vertigo. A very bad one. No wonder they have already started the process. Blind fury burns glowing red inside me. I hold my head with both of my hands and try not to lose balance. It's no use. In the end, it wins and forces me to kneel down and curl into myself. All my body is now touching the cold metal surface with those circular patterns.

The pain is excruciating as thrusting a blade into each nerve of your body. Agonized screams escape my tight throat and my heavily compressed chest. Despite that, I am not the one hearing them and it is considerable barely hearing them in this state.

I writhe in pain uselessly, the way a fish tossed outside the water would. The only thing I manage to look at is losing my memories just like that. They move upwards like a reversed waterfall and even physically being able to reach one would not make any effective changes. Pain mingles with radiant heat and my entire body is to be shattered irreversibly. My heart pounds wildly and I cannot sense anything but brutal torture. The scene beats black and white with each rapid pulse of my heart. I just want all of this to come to an end; if I am supposed to die, then what's taking me this long? Cannot bear it anymore; I just can't…

"Host memory wiped. Sensen awaiting new memorial content."

In a miserable feeble form, I lean against my cold forearms to lift my back. All the pain, all the ordeal… all of it is gone, as if it never happened in the first place. A great gasp escapes my chest with extreme physical exhaustion and I notice I'm completely drained of energy.

Dazzling light floods everywhere as the metal door rises. Some distinct footsteps approach,

"Good day, can you hear me? "A male voice asks from my left.

"Yes." I manage to reply, barely able to summon up the energy for a one word answer. Turning a single inch makes me lose this little balance for good.

"What's your name?"The voice asks again, so harsh for a question. Instincts tell me a coercive interrogation is on its way.

"Nilin." I blurt out.

"What year," There is a pause; probably awaiting my subsequent response. What year….what year is it? The more I long for the number, the blurrier everything becomes. It is ridiculous how the answer to such a simple question does not come to me straight.

The man does not seem displeased in the slightest. He quickly grabs my chin, all but bruising the flesh underneath.

"What did you say?"The voice snarls with hatred while he forces me to look him in the eyes. His wicked eyes reflect nothing but fury and ruthlessness.

"Nilin."I repeat in exertion, hoping that was all he wanted; it is not as though I have told him anything else.

His eyes are still invading mine and the rage has not faded yet. Eventually, his mind comes up with a sentence:

"Damn, now that's a first."

After an instant, he savagely lets go of my chin and I feel my body being heavily thrust to the ground. He then starts to pace back and forth in the room, briefly disappearing from my sight.

"Not to worry, we'll scrape away those last memories. What year is it?"

"I…"

The vertigo becomes more intense. No! Heaven, why?! Nothing comes to me…

"I don't know" Growing desperation mixed with misery is devouring me second after second.

"It's 2084. Do you know where you are?"

I cannot remember, no, no, no, this cannot be right; it shouldn't be this way, no, nothing is familiar, nothing is right…

The real ordeal has begun right now. It is suffocating me, blinding my vision, cutting my mind's process. The trouble is right here: being stranded in a place you don't know and face people who appear to show unbridled enthusiasm in hurting you.

In the end, I give up and all of the bottled desperation heavily overflows with the painful one-word admission,

"NO" I exhale.

His fury seems to fade away quietly as the number of the questions to which I cannot respond increases.

"Not so resistant after all" he says as a wave of relief passes through him.

He ambles along, lowering himself, and I feel his sweaty hand grab hold of my chin again with lethal pressure.

"Thank you for your cooperation" he says with a triumphant smirk. His eyes go over me for a while before heading for somewhere farther in the room.

"Doctor Quaid?" he asks but I realize he's talking to someone else.

"Yes?"

"This subject is displaying some resistance."

"Complete the substitution protocols, then send her to me. I'll erase her last barriers myself."

"Yes, doctor."

Heavy footsteps gradually go further away and it takes me some minutes to realise no one is here. All the conversations fade.

Some considerable hesitation resides deep inside me, whether I should stand up or not. Staying here till the end of the universe would make no use. There might be an infinitesimal chance. Chance of what?

I push myself off the ground, trying to stand up like a baby gazelle who attempts standing for the first time. My breath gets lodged in my throat and I manage to stand up as a moan of painful exertion shoots through my chest. Nevertheless the victory is short and never had I imagined this would be such a difficult movement. I'm stunned when I fall backwards and mange to prevent it by crashing on a nearby table for support. Ragged breaths enter and leave my lungs with brutal fierceness. My left forearm rests on the table for a few minutes and I just keep my head low to the ground with my eyes tightly shut, trying to digest everything around me, including the pain itself. This vertigo blurs everything into shades of greyish green.

"Good day, raise your head please" someone or rather something orders me.

I raise my head, still having difficulty to balance myself. My head is so heavy with sharpness of dizziness that it hurts.

The green light goes over me and makes me practically blind in doing so. Once more my head falls with extreme fatigue.

"Thank you. Now stand up"

I push my forearm against the table and stumble again. It takes a few moments but I get used to standing.

"Please follow the orange line to your next assignment"

"Where the hell…?"

Staff in green and white uniforms come into view as I move forward. They do not even bother to catch a glimpse of me.

"Argh" my head, damn it.

"Move forward please" the robot orders again.

"I don't… I don't remember"

Stumble after stumble, everything blurs and I just drag myself to the orange hexagon stops.

I trudge left; another room. I press the back of my neck.

"This is all wrong…" a baseball lump forms in my throat and I inhale hard to force down the threateningly close tears.

I can swear I heard a buzz, but nothing is real here. This is just a bad dream; a nightmare that will be over soon.

"Please stand in line and wait for your turn before sitting down on the chair"

I go and stand in line, getting a brief view of what is next to come. The device comes down and fastens to the sides of a man's skull. All of a sudden, his screams jerk me awake and my heart throbs at the severity of his agony.

Something lethal is done to his brain and he is there no more.

"Move forward" the robot reminds me of those horrible screams.

It's almost close. It's painless, Nilin it's painless. Why don't you believe me? You won't feel a single thing.

"Nilin" Someone says into my ear. The voice is warm and also close, coming from my head but it can't be real. No I'm just too dizzy.

"Nilin…" the voice says again, this time evidently concerned.

"Can you hear me?" he asks and I can sense how tense he is.

"Yes" I manage to let out a word, still in somewhat of a trauma.

"They're about to wipe your brain, Nilin… Don't let them do it" he says gravely, more in a commanding tone. I look around. It's nice to hear a hopeful voice, but it still doesn't change the outer reality.

"I need to create a diversion… Be ready to move when I say!" he says in concise words, informing me of his plan. Even at this end of the connection, I can sense the worry twirling in the pit of his stomach. But who is he? Can he really get me out of this? Why would he care?

"Who are you?" I finally decide to ask.

"I'm the voice you have to listen to if you want to live." The buzz fades and a grim silence follows by. I don't know whether he can still hear me…

"Don't leave me alone" I plead with him, my desperate voice almost breaking. He is the only hope left at the moment; I'd like to think that there are still some people who would care for me, people who would freely take measures and rebel against those in authority.

"Please stand in line and wait for your turn before sitting down on the chair" the robot repeats, sounding much like an alarm before explosion. Oh God, one more and I'll be the next… Where the hell are you now? Didn't you say you would help me? Nilin, I told you he was not real. Now watch how your brain will go to pieces in that chair!

All of a sudden, darkness grasps the room and the alarms go off.

"Network anomaly. Temporary quarantine established. Thank you for your patience."

"That got their attention!" he says in excitement, like a kid who has received a reward for their work. A spark of hope ignites in me as I hear his voice again.

"Nilin, the large metal shutter is going to raise on your left. If you understood me, move your head. I'm linked to your Sensen, I'll feel it."

I don't move my head instantly, but half turn with lingering hesitation.

"The door! Go under it, now!" his alarming voice echoes in my head.

I head towards it as fast as I can, but my entire body is drained and I cannot "run". I lie down and drag myself under the metal frame, all the friction makes it much harder to get through but somehow I manage. Once more I'm grateful no one noticed me.


	2. Atrocity

**Episode one: Atrocity**

**"We are beyond sympathy at this point. We are beyond humanity."**

**Ada Wong (from Resident Evil)**

I begin wandering aimlessly, for the place is so dark that I barely see anything. If I walked out of here alive without a serious collision, I will seriously give myself a reward.

"Nilin" he starts in his informative tone,

"Yes?"

"This place, it won't remain deserted for long."

"Meaning?" My heart starts thumping.

"Unattended patient in restricted area! Coercive unit deployed!" The computer voice interrupts alarmingly, making my worst thoughts turn into reality.

"What?" I panic over the thought of what might be coming for me, especially now that I can't see.

"Nilin, don't get distracted. Just keep moving" he says in a strict tone. I don't know if I can find any sympathy in that voice.

I quicken my pace and move forward, wherever I can feel simple solid ground under my feet. This inky darkness is just making things so hellish. Good news, I can see a lit area from here. That should be an exit. I'm almost close.

"The passage on your right…Take it!" I try to take his advice but…

Within a flash, a massive hit is delivered to my stomach and I'm knocked against a wall. How in the world did it happen? What was that thing?

I cough horribly, mustering all I have to suppress throwing up.

"Nilin!" the concern in his voice galloped wildly. "NILIN! Are you okay?"

"Agh" my back hurts too damn much, all my ribs burn and they're bound to bruise seconds after. He takes my moans as a yes. Interesting.

"Get up! You've got to keep going" he commands seriously. Does he even know how much pain I'm going through?

There's no time. I quickly push myself up and limp towards the exit for my dear life. The door dings closed and I kneel down uncontrollably, leaning against a yellow cylindrical glass wall. I'm glad that my survival instincts tell me here is safe. Was that thing a robot? I got the sensation the thing that hit me was made of steel or so.

"Whoa" I rub my temples, panting real hard. My body is growing numb from all the excruciating pain and it just forces me to curl into myself, pulling my knees into my stomach. Why should one be condemned to this much suffering in their life?

Now it's my turn to get some fresh answers,

"Where am I?" I ask in a very serious tone.

"You're in La Bastille, a prison that allows NO ONE to break out" his tone turns dark.

"So I must be a ghost then" I answer sarcastically.

"Nilin, do you even realize how critical this is?" he becomes annoyed, and equally unstable. Why is that?

"What are you talking about?" Worry surges through me.

"This thing you're on is not an exit! It's an elevator! And you're going straight to the core of La Bastille! Are you content now?" he asks like he is the one in trouble, not me.

My ribs burn even more when his accusations hit me in a row. Anger builds up in me.

"Guess I don't have the right to be!" I yell and quickly blame myself because it makes me cough more blood.

"Besides, who the hell are you to order me around?" the words escape my mouth without any hesitation, they're rude too but I don't regret it in the slightest.

I can say he was slightly taken aback.

"I'm so sorry Nilin for talking to you like that" his voice turns soft," I just don't want anything to happen to you." I hear his steady breathing on the other end.

"The enemy is Memorize, a company that has digitized and commoditized memories. They call it Sensen technology and the world is getting addicted to it. You follow?"

"Yes" I say, turning my full attention to him this time.

"My name is Edge and you have to trust me "sis". You are an Errorist, just like me! We all fight for a cause and will make sure no firm might build a monopoly on all human memories".

The lift is going up, serving as nothing but total distraction. He goes on, his voice in my ear gradually fading and becoming one with the background.

"Nilin! Listen to me! You were a revolutionary fighter and my best agent, but I've failed. We were rounded up and imprisoned."

"This is all very interesting but I REALLY need to get out of here." I say with mounting concern, running my hand through my messy auburn hair frantically.

"Nilin, this place is a thousand times more dangerous than the prison itself and regarding your disorientation" I look up at the floor number, it has already passed one hundred. Shit!

"No matter what, just STAY IN SHADOWS until our comrades break you out" he finished with the same graveness, more like if you don't listen to me you'll be done.

It reads 117 and the lift dings open. I inhale and exhale in a totally uneven rhythm, my violent lower stomach trembling violently.

"I'm right with you Nilin" he reassures me, like a father trying to convince a child who is afraid of entering school on their first day.

I peak around with caution before heading out. A remarkable view catches me off guard. No doubt, this place is exclusively designed for people like governors. Right in front of the lift, a red luxurious carpet is rolled, stretching endlessly to somewhere very far away in the hall; so far that cannot be seen from here. White colossal marble statues stand everywhere. Parallel to the elevator beside the red carpet, are huge fluted grey columns. There are big wooden dining tables sitting in the sides with huge golden candlesticks on them. The floor gleams with polished black marble and the reflection of huge chandeliers as well as statues can be noticed upon.

No! There are footsteps, making me jolt backwards in fear and lean against the wall of the elevator as much as I can in an attempt not to be seen. Fortunately they don't come in. When they are distant enough though, I trip over my own feet, dashing behind the nearest column in reach.

Hiding behind the column, I watch as some soldiers come and assemble in the centre of the hall with rigorous discipline. All of a sudden, this stentorian voice jerks me awake. I quickly turn my head away, catching my breath.

"You useless imbeciles! You let her break out just like that? "A feminine voice hollered.

I am somewhere undeniably close to her. My heart starts pounding wildly. She must be someone in authority, maybe the one in charge of this prison. I lean my back heavily against the column and try my best to remain immobile. Any rash motion could unveil my spot. My heart pounds so wildly that it could cut through my ribs and fall off anytime.

"We are truly sorry Madame!" one of them said in a begging tone," There were no other options. You are highly aware if anything happens to his beloved memory hunter, nothing can get in his way!"

His memory hunter? Are they precisely talking about me?

"I don't care!" her voice goes on rising with each word, just a bit higher and all this glass is sure to break!

"I want her, RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW! If we get our hands on her, then tying Edge's hands will be inevitable. Now get the fuck out of here and don't even return without her!"

"Yes madam!" he stutters, and it takes them a few minutes to leave. After I double check no one is out there, I quickly dash towards the elevator. Oh God, fuck this vertigo! Wait, is it heading up for the 300th? Shit, shit, shit!

"Let this be a nightmare" I curse softly under my lips.

A cold solid hand suddenly grips my wrist, with enough pressure to handcuff me.

"Let go of me you bastard!" I shout threateningly, but his palm moves up to my mouth quickly, gagging me in response.

"Hush, sis" he says quietly, the scar on his eyebrow instantly comes into view. "My name is Bad Request and Edge has sent me to accompany you outta here" he says with a very kind smile.

I push him back and my eyebrows tighten as I scrutinize him from head to toe with suspicion.

"You're an Errorist?" I say incredulously, crossing my arms. Fortunately enough, he doesn't have anything in common with those soldiers.

"Yes!" he nods, bursting with energy." Nilin, the Hunter" I can see how his eyes flash bright with enthusiasm as if he has just spotted a celebrity.

"I'm your biggest fan" he says with colorful excitement. I don't know what to say.

"Thanks" I rub the back of my neck "But don't you think we should keep moving? They can track us anytime now, broooo."

"Right" he smiles sheepishly, "Let's go, this way" he points to a corridor.

We take stealthy strides. He notices my lengthy silence.

"Hey Nilin" he says, I turn my head to look at him. "Why are you as silent as the dead?" he asks, curiosity dripping from his voice.

"Nothing" I hug myself tightly, my gaze dropping to the floor

"I just feel an empty hole."

Confession is not easy.

"That's because your memory's been wiped" he tries to cheer me up.

We come to a halt as a grand locked entrance appears in front of us. "Don't worry, we'll get them back as soon as possible" he smiles sweetly, I can see Edge's reassurance has grown in him too.

"It's locked" I say, biting my lips in disappointment.

"Not now and not for us" he draws out a device,

"Meet my Pick-Socket, Sis" he says with pride as he shoots it through the door.

I watch as the device breaks the digital lock. We stroll closer to the entrance.

"Sis, go ahead. This route should be safe" he turns his head in the opposite direction.

"I need to take care of some things. Will see you soon sis!" he smiles gently and vanishes into thin air a second later.


	3. Reviving Lost Identity

Episode Two: Reviving Lost Identity

**"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."**

**Martin Luther**

He left and all I could see was his stylishly shaved head with a braid hanging from its centre. I begin walking around. Bright neon blue lights have illuminated this corridor. Subconsciously, I brace myself for the worst.

My eyes can hardly make out a stumpy figure at a fairly discreet distance. At first I mistake it for a soldier, getting ready to run off; but as it limps fast towards me, it comes across as a peculiar creature; more like those who resemble the dead. Sallow moist skin, disheveled clothes and quirky reactions.

"Lost…Fear… Sister…Meat" he staggers towards me as he tries hard to pronounce each word, disgusting saliva dripping from his mouth. Does it actually intend to eat me?

"How about friend?" I put my hands up, not entirely sure what to do. Can I really negotiate with this thing?

"Sister…lost…meat" he chews the words in his mouth again, extremely intent on getting close to me. We don't seem to share a common language then.

"Please don't come any closer, I'm not in the mood of fighting or running!" I don't know if I was joking or not, but its sudden slump forces me to recede slowly. My hand kneads my forearm with nervous pressures.

"You're gonna have to Nilin." Edge's voice turns dynamic.

"You mean running?" I am mentally trying to convince him, convince him to say yes. Judging by the current situation, this seems to be the most logical alternative after all; but then again where should I run to? Forward?

"No, I mean fighting." He clarifies sternly, something in his voice incredibly enthusiastic about combat.

"Are you out of your mind? I can't walk," I try to protest, rubbing my ribs which burn like fire from hell," let alone fight!"

"You're gonna have to Nilin, it won't hesitate to kill."

"But I don't remember!" I say bitterly, as if he is asking me to fly without wings. I watch in horror as the creature is about to jump on me, the way tigers stun their prey.

"Trust me sis, fighting cannot be forgotten!" he shouts his last unwavering words. It's either now or never!

Its repellent face is just a few inches from walloping mine. As it hurdles in my direction, I deliver a good punch to its torso. It lurches back and I don't hesitate to land a few more trendy kicks before I guarantee its demise with a knock-out punch.

My breathing literally ceases altogether. I try to get my heart working by pressing a palm on my tightly throbbing chest. Edge was right about remembering how to fight; it was easy. I still can't believe it was me who did that though.

"What was that thing?" I stoop down to give it a closer look. Still disgusting…

"A Leaper. Miserable cast-offs left to rot in depths of Neo-Paris."

"Miserable?" I ask in utter disbelief, "Monstrous more like." My fingers go over its clammy flesh, right on the face. How could one turn into such a thing?

"Besides," I quickly remember to add as I rise, "why are they mindlessly roaming in the 117th floor of La Bastille? Isn't that strange? "

"They are the abandoned children of our Sensen age. " He simply says with empathy, but I'm not sure whether that makes much sense. My eyes flash around with restlessness, pondering where to go next.

"Simply humans, like you or I, but cast as shadows of our shame. Something we are meant to fear." I throw another swift glance at the creature to consider Edge's words.

"Another justification for the Errorist cause!" He pronounces the second part with fiery passion, enough to awake an entire army of the dead. " But regarding their bizarre presence here, that's horse of a different color."

"The ever intelligent Nilin, we guess some inhumane top-secret experiments have gone wrong. " His tone turns contemplative.

In truth, is he complementing me?

"Okay, which way to go? "It's not like this corridor will stay empty forever. Sooner or later, someone will definitely pass by.

"Forward, go find the other elevator at the end of the corridor." I keep plodding through the spacious arched corridor.

"I told our comrades you were back in the game." He says with a hint of pride before the line goes dead again.


	4. Creeds I

**A special thanks to all those who read, faved, followed and reviewed this story so far. Enjoy reading and tell me whatever you would like, please note that the previous chapters have been edited and changed somewhat.**

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Episode three: Creeds I

"**It is a truism that almost any sect, cult, or religion will legislate its creed into law if it acquires the political power to do so."**  
Robert A. Heinlein

After traversing the hallway, I come across a larger hall pretty much like the previous one, the fresh smell of its newness travelling through my nostrils. I can't wait to get this ridiculous white outfit off, especially these strappy shoes which literally make me slip with each step on the gray glassy floors if I'm not careful enough.

Tall columns stand to the lift's sides, the same depressing black marble. There is a crimson rug between them, patterned at every angle, standing in contrast to the steel grey walls which are squeaky clean, therefore slightly gleaming. My eyes detect a hologram on one of the corners; it looks like a woman, someone who seems to be a local news anchor or a host, can't exactly tell which of those. She shatters all my focus at once and the next instant I have fully turned to regard what she is saying.

"The weather is foggy. Olga Sedova, the infamous bounty hunter has set out for the most-wanted memory hunter. No one can escape her eagle eye! However, we seriously hope that her spouse, David will recover soon so they can both perform this mission. Good luck Olga!" she finishes with a special cheer that just makes me revolt.

The news is quickly followed by someone's wanted photo. Wait, that's me! Nilin, and a gratifying 300000 euros reward to enrich it. God, I need to get out of here in a flash!

I dash towards the lift. Does it read 300th? I can't wait that long, oh shittt!

"I have spotted the memory hunter!" heavy footsteps approach like a tornado, "call Madame ASAP!"

I turn around to see him coming closer, my hands nervously fidgeting with the lift's frosty metal cover behind me. He mumbles something to his device, doubling the guards in white uniforms and helmets as a result. They enter the area the way flood would in less than a split second, completely encircling me. My eyes work hard to find some shortcut, anything that can get me past them! No, nothing!

"You don't stand a chance, memory hunter!" one of them shouts in victory, "surrender before we physically harm you." He points his weapon towards me, his voice a little shaky. Perhaps it's Madame whom they are most intimidated by.

What can I possibly do? There are too many of them already! There's no choice here, I'll have to take chances.

Wait, the buzz in my Sensen arrives again. I'm finding myself extra lucky today!

"Edge! There are dozens of these guards and I'm practically surrounded!" My throat gets dry, "Any ideas?"

"Better than that, Nilin. There's no need for you to do anything." His clipped tone gets triumphant. I'm starting to believe he is utterly insane.

"Do nothing?" my voice gets flat with frustration, "They'll SLAUGHTER me, _bro_!"I stress the last word with a special deride.

Severe aches poke at my head all of a sudden; damn, it aches wildly! I lose my balance, falling to the ground, all the scene before me going nebulous grey. It's… it's something more of a flashback. I catch a glimpse of a girl a bit further, right in the centre, but all I can view now is her stark silhouette. She rapidly kneels down and lands a heavy punch to the floor, creating a rippling wave, like those of an explosion. The scene fades and everything returns to normal. The guards are moving closer and closer each second, threateningly close. I really don't know why, but instincts tell me to repeat the same pattern that girl performed.

I summon up my limited energy, concentrating on my fist. Now's the time! I quickly duck, swinging a heavy punch to the floor. Time seems to have stopped. All the guards are thrown back from the wave, seemingly dazed and incapacitated by a high-pitched beep sound, desperately holding on to the sides of their heads, as if in trauma; but there is more than just that. Some pictures alongside special settings are afloat in the air: their memories I'd say; similar to a web, vaguely connected by a line of flashy holographic dots. I don't have much time. The lift dings open and I simply take advantage of their dazzle, jumping in with an agility that is so unlike me.

"Ah…" a sigh of relief escapes my chest as quick as I came. Here's Edge again!

"Edge! "I exclaim with an emotion I cannot precisely define, "What did I exactly do?" I don't know whether I should be proud or puzzled, but for all I know, that's what has happened right in front of my eyes.

"That's a good sign sister," he says with perfect contentment, "with time, other memories will come back."

Hope so. Memories are like primeval forests; as much as you're curious to see what's waiting inside, unforgettable horrific ones might as well be lurking in the dark. What made me say that? It's not like memory is a defined word to me; I have none left. None, save for all that's happened ever since I escaped that chair; don't even want to think about it!


	5. Creeds II

**A/N: Hey there, Max and David! Thanks a trillion for reading this and posting a review! Best wishes**

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Episode Four: Creeds II

The lift comes to a halt after the neon green number reads forty. The curtains are pulled back and I step in the battlefield. Our comrades are already locked in a heavy hand-to-hand combat with the enemy troops, paving the route for my perfect break out.

There it is; the chopper awaiting me at the end of the hall, right behind the large panoramic glass windows. The sounds that hit my ears are not the most enjoyable ones, collateral damage; it just unsettles me to see some other people's lives, our elite comrades as Edge puts it, are particularly at risk. Fighting at La Bastille has got its own privileges; they could get arrested anytime.

"Nilin!" a girl clad in silvery white uniform shouts at me, "come over here, hurry!" she points straight at the small helicopter, and there is a hole of broken glass that creates our entry to the chopper.

I dash in her direction, quickly making my way into the helicopter. She closes the door behind her. The chopper flies away swiftly.

"But our comrades!" I say in a concerned tone, knowing that the Errorists have already risked so much to drag me out of that rotting cell. The sound of rotor blades spinning already puts a haze on my voice.

"Don't worry" she crosses her arms. "They'll make it. Otherwise…" she cuts herself, evident that she is unwilling to visualize the outcome.

"Otherwise what?" Nilin, is it really that urgent to bring up your inquisitive side today?

"The same thing they did to you" she tilts her head in my direction, "though that's the very least _if _they're lucky" she shrugs with an air of nonchalance, can't say if it's to scold me or not. "Hundreds of us are already rotting in those silly padded cells, so why give a damn now?" she smiles a bitter smile, one which could be the result of enduring torture for over a decade.

"By the way," her light brown eyes focus on me, "since you don't remember, the name's Delia Waterman" she runs her fingers through the front of her short black hair which is titivated by soft highlights of purple and green.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Delia, I'm…" I reach out my hand to shake hers, but she pushes it off.

"No need for cliché introductions sister," she interrupts me by chuckling lightly to herself. "Nilin, the magician. Guess that's somewhat of an honor."

Everyone goes on talking about the spotlight I've come under, yet no one clarifies its roots.

"Where are we headed? "I ask, my eyes set on the tall massive fort of La Bastille as it hides among other skyscrapers the further we go.

"Hideouts, whereabouts of our own…" she heaves a slight sigh before entering a dazed state again, merely drifting in a world of her own.

"Oh shit!" she stands up, grave concern etched on her face.

"What's happened?" I track her eyes outside, where there is a helicopter; but no, not a helicopter. To be concise, it's sort of a warplane, analogous to those governmental ones which track you down to your last breath.

"It's Olga Sedova! She has spotted us, that mad pscyho!" she spits out her words as she prepares herself to do things I cannot conceive yet.

"The bounty hunter? Is she gonna blow us up? "The thought is bad itself.

"Something like that!" she exclaims before turning to the pilot "Jay, YOU NEED TO LAND!"

"It's too late, Delia." I point at the missiles resting right under Olga's aircraft, eager to get fired anytime.

Jay quickly descends, but it's not long before I notice Delia has already clutched my hand and forces us to skydive, though using the term is not correct as we don't have any parachutes. Parachutes are dreams; this is reality. I do hope we make it out of this alive.


	6. Home I

**A/N: Hey there again! Please post a review after each chapter and tell me about what you think and whether I should continue. Happy reading ;) **

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Episode Five: Home

**Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.**

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

I can only assume I was merely drifting in a world of twirly unconsciousness in those stretching seconds. There was a deafening wave of explosion and then total darkness grabbed at us.

"Nilin! Nilin wake up!" A disembodied voice reverberates in the air over me. It takes me some minutes to shoot open my eyes. After my senses start to tingle in my veins, I feel this sort of wetness, this swampy coldness. After a split second, it comes in the form of a current which smells bloody awful. Couldn't be any more revolting! I only keep praying that it's not the sewers we're stuck in. The once hazy voice is laced with dark concern, and it must belong to Delia.

"Nilin!" Following the sharpness that lands on my surroundings bit by bit, she shakes me barbarically.

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" I almost shout, putting up my hands in defeat to prevent her from planting more fabulous vertigos in my head.

"Edge! Nilin is luckily conscious." She is probably talking via her Sensen, the relief flying in her voice.

There it is, the buzz again; so Edge is establishing a communication line.

"Nilin, Delia. I need the two of you to get to the hideout 703. Make it quick! We need to work out a contingency plan." The line goes dead again.

"What happened to Jay?" I turn towards Delia, guilt weighing me down.

Her eyes evade mine, more focused on finding a way. We keep plodding as the dirty water splashing against our feet becomes less nauseating the further we go.

"He burnt to a crisp," she says impassively, playing about with her long silver gloves," the helicopter also."

My eyes fall to the ground with utter disappointment.

"I'm sorry." It's the least I can say to her, to the Errorists.

"Nilin, I joined the Errorist Cause five years ahead of you" she turns on her heels to face me, softly clenching her fist beside her, "You're the one person who's worth the sacrifice. You're our trump card." She says quickly, turning away to retrace her resolute steps.

"Thank you Delia," I try to keep up with her for she walks so fast, "for bearing with me so far!"

"Actually, it's nothing special. I do enjoy your company. "A smile stretches on the corner of her lips.

"So this hideout, is it far?" If it's located in a very remote location, we won't be a match for Olga Sedova. She's bound to eliminate us, with or without that aircraft.

"Not very far, it's in Slum 404." She stops to turn right in these dark winding tunnels, "should be approximately ten minutes if we catch a boat."

"Nilin, watch out for leapers. The damned creatures might be lurking in the shadows." She says, narrowing her eyes, possibly to refresh her Sensen navigation system.

"Yet, equally predictable. So we should brush up on our combat skills again, don't we?"

"Yeah, that it. There we go on a fighting spree! Did you encounter any of them?" she tilts her head in my direction with curiosity, "I mean after the break out?"

"Yes," we seem to be approaching the end of the tunnel; there is a circle of light pouring down over the horizon. "I bumped into one of them… in La Bastille. Was quite easy to tackle."

"By the way, how did we end up in La Bastille?" I might not have the memories with me currently, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't want to know how our little militia was nearly dissolved. Edge had just passingly mentioned we were rounded up and imprisoned.

"Well, your memories are confiscated. Mine too," we have fully traversed the tunnels, heading for the waters she mentioned earlier" about forty percent, nevertheless I can vividly remember the day you got arrested. In detail!" That last word sends icy shivers down my spine.

She stops short once again, seeming partially baffled as she blinks quickly "Ah fucking memory glitches! So yeah once we're done with this whole business," she turns towards me directly, her almond radiant eyes hitting mine "I'll be the first to tell you about the tale."

We step forward, dazzling sunset rays massage my eyes with pleasant warmth as I finally get to view the real face of the city. We're seemingly somewhere in the slums, obviously where the standard of living comes across as rather low. The structures and buildings come in lopsided forms, a model of irregular geometry, houses joined by closed grey balconies, dust and dirt lying on the ragged hanging clothes and stalls. The blocks are so tightly adjacent that one feel they'll definitely get lost in these labyrinths of tightness. Not to mention the dampness that strikes your nostrils the minute you reach here. Black ropes and wires hang from almost everywhere, heavily crowding the site. The Eiffel tower is standing above with pride like a glowing flagpole, capturing the eye with one touch, extremely distant and high, giving you the sensation that you're going down with these low slums. No noise is heard other than rare flaps of birds, in addition to the buzzes of tiny advertising robots hovering once in a blue moon.

We descend some narrow stairs, in fact so rickety to be called stairs. Then, we jump over some cast-away metal props, finally visiting the local harbour. The same shallow contaminated river which could spread God knows what kinds of diseases. There is a little open boat, its senile owner sitting in it with sulky desperation. I do not know whether he is mulling over the past, the present, or even the future.

"Hey you! Take us to the Leaking Brain." Delia reaches for her wallet and thrusts a small bag of funds into his chest, making the boat slightly pitch from side to side.

"Yes! Yes!" he nods quickly, awakened from shock paralysis.

We get onto the boat, when Delia clutches my wrist until we sit down, possibly to make sure I won't fall due to my disorientation. The man rows, slowly at first and then starts to quicken the pace. Placid waste water flashes around us with wild splashes against the oars, the same nagging dampness hitting the face as the boat sails serenely across these water.

"A fortuitous opportunity! I can buy many memories with this." He mumbles to himself, though it's loud enough to hear.

I tuck my legs up to my chest, my arms enveloping them. My head droops in contemplation; what will happen next? Am I experiencing identity issues? What was my previous life like? Nilin the memory hunter? Feared, or perhaps even hated? Were I cruel to people?

It's not long before I feel the heaviness of her gaze unbalance my thoughts. My eyes flicker back toward hers, awaiting an answer.

"Nothing, just…" she says with a hint of fatigue, "when we get there, we'll get you out of those straps and tend to your wounds. I guess charity begins at home." A wry smile creeps over her face. I manage to crack a polite smile in response.

So apparently we have arrived at the Leaking Brain. The boat rests at the stairs while we get ready to depart.

There is a loud splash of water and I rapidly turn around to digest the site. Delia is holding his head under the water while she lifts her opposite glove, bearing down on his Sensen. I watch in panic as his entire body thrashes around with desperation, his head shaking terribly and the boat we're on literally rolls violently. He tries to give out screams of pain but Delia has skilfully used the water as a gag. All I can see is her doing something fatal to him with her glove. One, two, three; it's over. The body is motionless and Delia kicks his corpse into the water; all done with utter stoicism.

"What…" I'm numb with trauma at the intensity of her actions "What did you do to him? He was just a poor citizen!" I exclaim with dread, hoping that she will provide me with a valid excuse.

"A poor citizen that might have turned you in to Olga Sedova!" she retorts angrily with wild gesticulations.

"That's not a good justification for killing off anyone who pops up in our way! There's more than one way to skin a cat." I suppose it's spending time at La Bastille that has turned on a sympathetic part of me, even though I cannot recollect the horrific things I went through. Then again, why should I sympathize with the citizens? Because they might suffer the same fate as me? How can I trust the person in front of me? Trust the Errorists and their motives? It's barely been an hour since escaping La Bastille.

"Whatever" she says nonchalantly, "You'll get used to it sis. Trust me!"

"So the Errorist cause manufactures killing machines, good to know then!"

I can see how pissed off she is at this point, but she doesn't bother to argue with me, instead focusing on the job in a stodgy manner.

"Here we are." Says Delia brusquely.


	7. Home II

**Episode six: Home II**

How we got here without getting spotted, I have yet to unravel. It crosses my eyes, a massive fire of tall metal, running its bare beams, standing at its reinforced feet, completely incongruous with the derelict buildings nearby. This monument, home to Errorists, naturally one of those many others scattered all over Neo Paris, could potentially hold the key to some of my most daunting questions ever.

My mind goes reeling at the thought of meeting new comrades, the bottom of my stomach soaked with nasty hesitation. Could I finally meet Edge? I'd earnestly rather my assumptions meet reality; something in my heart presents me ample proof that he must be a governing force, pivotal to surroundings, offering others some rock and foundation to stand upon, with dramatic powers to shift the attention.

After uttering the entrance password, Delia rushes in with heavy gruff footsteps, leaving me on my own feet to explore, to socially feign interest.

I move forward through a dim corridor, adjusting my reluctant stride. The hall runs down to a bar; the least I had anticipated. One interesting fact about the slums is holding vital elements of the past, the ambience that you can only find in typical classic novels of the old era. This refurbished bar is evidently one good exemplification; the hardwood parquet floor, creaking under the merciless weight of one's boots, the large oval-shaped bar counter, boasting with its polished black front, glittering neon drinks in bold bottles sitting in the slightly dusty alcove behind a black heavy-set figure; the bartender I'd say. He's not the only person who's occupying the current lot, cluttered over the place are other colorful beings called Errorists, in a place void of plain chairs save for the red leather stools beside the counter, and two comfy though battered velvet sofas beside the small brick fireplace. Being heavily immersed in conversation, they leave me alone with my urgent desires of sitting on one of those soft springy sofas, toasting myself near the blaze of the fireplace as warm rays of fire come to engulf me, inhaling freshness of the air like an injured one, savouring a second of tranquil rest, outside this world, far far away from this sludgy plight that has infected our society.

I'm popped out of my sweet fantasies as all the eyes in the bar land on me with jingling curiosity, that reflection of disbelief in their eager faces, my mind goes a complete blank as I try to initiate the first social interactions; I fail completely to do so. What have I got to tell them? Possibly, Hello? I'm Nilin? Delia brought me here because we needed to make contingency plans with Edge? Edge, good point; he ought to solve this moment of awkwardness.

No one budges a single inch, mouths gaping like comic book characters, as if time has frozen them all with a thick layer of ice.

"Well I'll be! Edge did it! Come 'ere sweetheart!" The bartender announces hysterically, turning a table upside down with his mighty arm, dashing in my direction like delirious miners who have reached gold after decades of hardship and misery, just a few inches from crushing everything in his way.

Without asking for permission of any kind, he pulls me into a long suffocating squeeze in his mountain-like frame, his leather outfit spewing charcoal smoke, leaving me with nothing but to earnestly wait for it to be over. Not that I'm not being grateful for his generous hospitality, but it's the awkwardness that is chocking me, alien people exchanging wild looks, all this crowded uncontrolled environment full of mental grope.

He finally draws back to face me, clutching me by the arms as if I'm one slippery fish that could fly out any time.

"Nilin! It seems like a lifetime!"

"I'm sorry," I start apologetically with an extremely guilt-ridden face, my elbows still trapped in his palms, "I have no memory of you."

We stare at each other a bit longer and I see that streak of disappointment going round his only eye.

"You really can't remember this pretty boy face of mine?" he insists with a humourous grin , forcing me to scan his face, his chiseled nose, harsh scars blooming everywhere like straps, and his shut blind eye. The sight itself thrusts any possible kind of anguish into my heart.

"Tommy headache?" he adds with forlorn hope, "doesn't my name even spark something up in ya?"

"I'm sorry." It doesn't take him long to notice the amnesia repentance taking over my face, something that I'm not to be blamed for.

"Hell. Well, we all lost bits and pieces in the war…" he says with warm empathy, his reassuring hands descending to my forearms "But you're free sweetheart, that's what counts!" he taps me on the shoulder with pride, partly forcing me to scrunch up in recession.

"I guess…" A brief glance around the place, other comrades also don't trigger any memories in me, just like Tommy, "Feels like I'm lost."

He nods knowingly, getting ready to head somewhere.

"First things first sister, let's get you" he stops over to sharply point at me with an outstretched index finger, "out of those straps."

Through a short hallway, we advance towards a chamber, unkempt but sustaining warmth. Shamefully, large lattice windows in the far end are insisting to encroach darkness upon it. The shadowy ceiling slopes to one side in a triangular form, red geraniums carefully planted in tin cans of takeaway food, glowing with such a contagious brightness. The room borrows its detailing light from modern tiny cubic lamps hanging round the walls, bearing their light on the ottomans, the large brown chesterfield, and the tiny glass coffee table in the centre.

"Now, let's get you changed. Your combat skin is in the locker." He points with his steady forefinger towards the locker, "Sis, come down the hall and put some drink in ya. Just take your time and relax for a while," he says turning around, his footsteps become fainter as he vanishes behind the hall, leaving me to my privacy.

I quickly go toward the locker, take hold of the uniform and pull it down from the hanger. Denim skintight jeans, a rosy violet top and a short white jacket made of trendy leather. Time to get wrapped up in something new. What ambiguity there is in plain oddments.

After a minute or two, a queer sensation, a note on a drawer sews my vision to itself. My deadly curiosity, or better to say skepticism, is one thing I'll probably never confine. I clutch the note, settling myself on the chesterfield as it shrinks under my weight and start reading:

_Amnesia: a fresh start or an irreversible disaster?_

_Amnesia can be beyond comprehension; a fresh start that heavily interconnects with one's internal life, riddled with issues of intimacy and trust. Waking up without the ability to connect the dots, the amnesiac can dimly remember anything, and not being able to piece together puzzles is far too frightening an experience. A drastic change of character, or something darker, hopelessness, hollowness. I cannot even imagine having my memory wiped._

_Nilin, the memory hunter_

_March 2084_

We're in September now. How long have I been incarcerated? Endless months? Could this really be my writing?

My shoulder sags under the sudden warm pressure of a hand pushing down, jerking me awake. Turning around, I tilt my head to get a better view. His visage, buried beneath a slate grey hood, covering the eyes rich as the sandy deserts, the only striking difference being his far darker ones, glistening with secluded beauty of a placid lake, an opinionated nose, and closed tranquil jaws, which will doggedly persist in speaking of humanity issues now and then.

"Edge."

"I'm glad you're back sister." He smiles enigmatically as he chooses one of the ottomans in front of me to settle on. His voice is undeniably vocal, far more sharpened than speaking to me on Sensens, with an impressive mass of shimmering articulateness.

"How are you feeling?" he asks in a crisp businesslike tone, clear, and strong.

"Other than being kicked to death in La Bastille, burning ribs, sore muscles, getting nearly blown up by a mad bounty hunter, guess I'm on the mend" a snide smile cracks on my chapped cold lips.

"Good to know then. We're already behind schedule. The rein of Memorize has come to an end!"

"What do you plan on doing?" I ask wearily, sweeping my forearms against my thighs, tightly clasping my hands.

"Essentially, we need to retrieve your glove; the one you utilized to remix our targets."

My eyes are driven to his outfit, the grey hood, a white leather jacket of sumptuous quality tightening on his dauntless square shoulders, and dark designer jeans of noble quality. At first encounter, you'll probably get the impression that he's one of those prosperous aristocratic youths, fascinated with setting trends, coming up with revolutionary ideas alongside ingenuity and renovation. He quickly grasps my momentary distraction.

"Nilin, please pay scrupulous attention to what I'm saying!" His bright tenacious eyes under the hood bear down into mine.

"Sorry, the glove you were saying."

"It's being kept in one of our safe houses in Saint-Michel district."

"You lost me, where is that exactly? I cannot recollect." My shoulders hunch forward, my thumbs twiddling as I get lost in contemplation.

"Doesn't matter. A place of selfish citizens, who gamble their minds self-righteously, catastrophically earnest to forget everything!" the crackling fire of passion in his voice rears to monster heights of flames, a distinct taste of venom in his voice.

"So getting my glove back should be an easy task," I try to calm him down in some nameless subconscious attempt, "in a city of forgetfulness and disguised amnesia."

"Maybe" he says succinctly, "though you have to be careful with Olga Sedova in particular. The bitch is no one to mess with, regarding her iron will…It's determination that serves as her tracker."

My mind plunges into working soberly, then the sight of my very own hands suggests a brilliant idea, as if the long glove was encasing it.

"Is it possible to remix her? Could it deliver any result?" Excitement spills over me.

"For sure it is." An arcane smile runs down his lips, privy to aspects I haven't been exposed to, yet. "It's what makes you a magician." His voice drops to a deep distinctive whisper, "The higher lead."

Everyone has been sending some tantalizing hints recently, I cannot wait to remix someone; anyone trapped under my cold fingertips. Such remarkable similarity lies here; the way they keep elucidating the breathtaking beauty of the cosmos and galaxies while you're trapped in a dark basement for all eternity.

"Edge, there is something I'd like to discuss exhaustively." My hand slides to the arm of the sofa, nails digging hard.

"I'm all ears."

"Provided I cannot recollect a single fact about the Errorist cause or our comrades, some lingering doubts will overtly proceed to haunt me."

"Your amnesia is a national disgrace to this dystopian hulk, awash with all kinds of conflict. We're so short of time in this acre of evil that having doubts itself is too much of a hindrance."

"Hindrance? Delia's cannibalistic approach has proven me wrong so far."

"Nilin, it's not good to form inaccurate partial judgments when you have no memories to be grounded on. You joined up with us when you were totally conscious." His vibrant somber tone shoots through the air, "you swore to put an end to all of it. I'm not imposing anything on you. If I were you, I'd bide my time and wait until my memories were back; the time ripe to judge."

My fingers tap against the denim of my jeans in a vague rhythm, my eyes falling to the floor. He's partly right, and partly not. If only I hadn't owed them for pulling me out…

"Don't let facades delude you." He tightly clasps his hands, flawless skin several shades lighter than mine. "That _poor citizen_ Delia brushed off was an indecent traitor, just like kid Xmas. Filthy rats who sell everyone down the river to fill pay checks."

Kid who?

"Why did you break me out in the first place?" I cross my arms fervently, "You have other capable agents by your side. Delia, bad request, tommy…"

"Like I said, you have something that they don't possess…"

"Remixing skills." I interrupt quickly, flexing my fingers, counting the number of times they have named the ill-defined phenomena, as if I'm the prize of a shooting contest equal with remixing, Nilin the Remixer. No character, no rights, trimmed to fulfill the requisites of the cause.

"There's more than what you think. I would name you thousands of other reasons if your heart valves were more unsealed than your current state." His voice is surgical, the sorrow rolling in it.

"The so-called valves are already unsealed. My objections are merely because I'm lost."

"Objections are mandatory to the stability of a bond."

"Your words are utterly convoluted to me."

"I'd be surprised if they weren't. We have other important things to take care of."

He rises to his feet, intent on leaving the chamber.

"Edge, is this my writing?" I hold the note in front of him, so that he can catch a glimpse of it.

"Yes, straight from your slender fingers." He is at the sea green door in two strides, "We'll be waiting for you to get around the table."

I sit there, leaning back against the cool spongy texture, the note unfolded in my hand for an eternity, lost in an ocean of uncertainty about everything. What did he mean when he said my heart was not unsealed enough? He loves to convey his inner thoughts in the most implicit ways, leaving others to work them out.


	8. Fresh Start

Episode Seven: Fresh Start

I quickly leave the chamber for the bar, the note sitting crumpled in my back pocket. Along the counter are sitting comrades cheek by jowl, the stools already occupied. Zealous voices start to open themselves up.

"Nilin, is that really you? Or am I dreaming again? "The billowing smoke dangles from his lips as his leathery seared eyes narrow.

"For sure it is!" I cross my arms with definitive conclusion, "unless it's some demon you're speaking to!"

"Come drink with us sister! Everybody, look at what the angels of Paris have brought us today!"

"Edge, that stubborn creature, nothing can stop him!" another figure explodes into a boisterous hysterical laugh, "He did it! He DID IT!"

"Hey mates! WHERE ARE your MANNERS?" Tommy shouts out loud, slightly frustrated, "open up some space for our dear Nilin!"

Taking a sheepish look at me, they start to shuffle with indescribable manual labour.

"Don't bother. I'm fine with that sofa." I smile warmly, pouring myself a drink from a brown bottle, soon descending to sofa level as it gives a subtle creak.

"Where's Edge?" My eyes run across the room with agile detection, but it looks as if he has been eaten up by the ground, "he was with me a second ago, so was Delia. Have they headed off to Saint-Michel?"

Tommy moves forward, selecting the other seat, obviously to prompt a discussion.

"Edge's no one to stay in the nest for long, you know?" he smiles sweetly, his florid scars swelling up, "he insisted that you recharge your batteries here while he and Delia get things done, until the dust settles." He takes in a mass of air, sounding much like someone who has been recently unburdened.

I bring up the brimming glass to my lips, having a tiny sip, a little at a time.

"So that means I'm off the radar until further notice."

"You're never off the radar sweetheart." A loud heartwarming chuckle escapes his teeth, "in fact, you're always at the core."

My attention forcefully hauls me to his scars and his impaired eye, which is truly heart-wrenching.

"What did they do to you?" My insides turn and twist in excruciating agony, my nasty imagination disobeying me wildly, striving to envision the story behind it.

He leans lightly into himself, palms pressing against thighs with traumatic flashbacks. Only then does he squeeze his eyes shut, carefully navigating through his mind to come up with an accurate yet horrifying answer.

"Down there in La Bastille, unlike you" he pauses to sigh with grief, casting me a full-grown glance, "I had to stay for the whole program."

I lift my glass once more, gulping so hard in an attempt to wash down the stone stingy lump in my throat. It's almost no good, no different than reliving those moments in La Bastille, far more humiliating and full to the brim with ultimate annihilation and torture. I face away from him, taking all left in me not to break down from the sudden searing.

"Well, the past can't hurt us anymore." he says in a sparkling tone, trying hard to distract me from identifying with him even more, "despite your notorious background, you're quite the newcomer here. Don't know if you've already noticed, but others have been killing themselves to talk to ya at full stretch, they're on cloud nine, you know?"

I turn around to get a quick look at all the people behind us, all stealing curious glances at us and then quickly returning to whisper things we can hardly make out.

"It's much appreciated." I try to wear a polite smile, standing up to place my glass on the counter. Tommy's words and all that he went through, all those stigmatizing flashbacks have certainly put me off my drink.

"Nilin, we're so glad that you came," a bright-eyed girl starts with an enchanting smile, her flashy auburn hair rounding her shoulders in curls, "I was starting to assume this day would never come."

"Yeah, it's like a dream come true!" Another boy exclaims somewhere along the crowd.

"Memorize will be in the melting pot! Cheers!" Their merriment flies high in the sky, alongside their tiny droplets of champagne erupting everywhere as they clink their glasses. We all toast the impending success of our plans, dreaming a colorful dream of a healthy city with lively normal people in its shops, the hustle and bustle, that essential elimination of deception.

"Last time we pulled one of these stunts and lost everything in the process. Will anyone give a damn again?" A sharp crisp voice echoes all over the place.

"What do you mean?" His remark snatches my attention, most definitely speaking of a special event. I must look like a sinister child leering at untouchable cookies, thirsty for clues that link us to the farthest point in our past.

"Well half of it was your fault, the other half was Edge's. You always had a tendency to risk your life on the front line, and Edge, Edge always runs us ragged with fruitless plans."

"Oh, shut up Peter! You know it's not true!" the same girl turns to face me, "he's severely depressed just because those malevolent Enforcers are holding his brother in jail."

"I risked my life on the front line? And that's a mistake?" I lean against the counter, eager for this conversation to fully lead somewhere. I must have been a steadfast member then, haven't I?

"Very often, it was pretty much a habit of yours. On a day off, you simply ran out of luck." He wipes his lips with the sleeve of his jacket.

"You said Edge's plans are fruitless, why is that?" My eyebrows rise from this complexity.

"He has sacrificed, does sacrifice, and WILL sacrifice everything and everyone for you, always ends up doing that. That's why we've been led astray, all of us. Even you Miss Memory Hunter!"

"Peter, it's high time you corrected your words. It won't be tolerated." Someone rises from the counter with a clenched fist, brutal, the other Errorists accompany him in unison, arrows of threatening glares raining down on Peter.

"Edge is just playing games with you," He almost mutters, throwing me a melancholy smirk.

"Peter!" Tommy rises from the sofa in a fearsome posture, fury blowing in his voice, "I SWEAR if you start spouting off nonsense again …" he digs his teeth into his lips hard, in a heavy attempt to restrain himself from doing something fierce to him.

"I'm sorry," Peter's head drops into himself, drowning back in a world of his own, "must have drunk too much."

Others retreat to their flexible mood as the tension flattens like a low tide, the supporting guy with the clenched fist slipping down into his seat.

"Hey, I know it's truly devastating that your bro's still in that hell," I try to sound reasonable though simultaneously consoling, "but I promise we'll bust him out, him and all of our comrades."

He shoots me a drained glance,

"Thank you."

"Thank me when I honour my promise."

I lean against a wall, arms still crossed, intrusive thoughts invade my mind, driving inside harder. Peter might have been drunk at that point, but were all his words nonsensical blather, or was there truly a point to it? Are Edge's plans really fruitless? Is he playing games with me? What kind of game? No, that can't be. I saw the dense layer of pain behind those grave eyes; something of saturated sorrow.

My Sensen suddenly crackles.

"Edge, is it you?"

"Nilin, you need to make it to Saint-Michel. It's urgent! The sooner you get the glove, the higher our chance of success. Otherwise you'll be chiefly disarmed, they'll undoubtedly dispose of it."

"Who will dispose of it? Memorize? I thought you and Delia were setting light to things in Saint-Michel!"

"No, I had to collect data for breaking key passageways throughout the district."

"What's my part in this anyways?"

"Get to Saint-Michel! There you'll figure it out."

"You do notice that the route breathes surveillance, don't you?"

"No need to remind me. I got everything in control. Just one thing…"

"That thing is?"

"Get hold of Delia's glove temporarily. It should do you good for a while."

"How come she doesn't need it herself? Won't it make things tough for her?"

"Now's not the time to be thinking about Delia. Get to Saint-Michel and obtain the glove, if not you'll have to face the consequences."

"Okay then, I'll set out soon."

I dash towards Tommy,

"Tommy, do you happen to know where Delia's glove is kept?" I ask hurriedly.

"Of course, dear. It's in the chamber, must be in one of the lockers."

I run up to the chamber, soon discovering the priceless artefact. The black glove, long, perfectly coming to fit my fingers, running up to encase my forearm. I am not aware of its full potential by any means, but at the very least it's a pretty ornament. Why would Delia ever want to go without it? Was it Edge's command? At any rate, it's time to say goodbye to Errorists.

"Hey Tommy, guys, thanks for everything, truly." I get ready to depart, his hand gently settles on the side of my chin.

"You haven't lost it sweetheart. Edge was right to bet it all on you."

I nod with mutual appreciation. All comrades stand up as I turn around to saunter through the external corridor, the last goodbye. Why am I being so dark?

"Everybody's counting on you!" Tommy shouts with assertion, excitement swinging in his voice like a hammock. The sentence equally stresses me out. What if I fail? There are a billion possibilities that the outcome is not favorable; I definitely don't want to end up in La Bastille for a second time, especially now that the tension is dead high.

The automatic door flies open, the same way it did before our entrance, this time without a password. Slum 404 once again.

"Off we go…"

The river, the ominous silence, the flapping of the doves, everything about slum 404 reflects deranged forces, shameless clues of what's bound to happen.

"Nilin, just be careful. I don't intend on losing you again!"

His voice is there again as I walk my way through sewer lines in a fussy fashion,

"The entire process was backbreaking enough," he adds in a highly reminding tone.

"I suppose I can handle the leapers, but I do have second thoughts about surveillance drones, bounty hunters, spies whatsoever!"

"Don't worry, sis. You're still public enemy number one. It's sufficient to keep ordinary people out of the way."

"Edge, where are you currently?"

"Reorganizing plans, digitizing info, and analyzing the specified routes."

"I get it, but where?"

"We can postpone these questions. What really matters is that you get the glove ASAP!"

"You know what?" I ask as I hang from a red pipe, swinging to retain my momentum, "Your evasive attitude is starting to get on my nerves!"

I can hear him let out a little chuckle, but quickly containing it.

"I only do what's in your best interest, and that is to guide you."

"You sound much like a prophet." Though I don't mind his guidance at all, to be honest it's relieving to a great extent.

The line goes dead once more. Ascending stretches itself with me to the very top of bars and pipes, reaching a point that comes down to a platform. Steadying my grip on the bar, I jump down with the last swing.

"Which way to go?"

"The tunnels. Keep going."

After traversing the dark tunnels, eliminating a herd of leapers, an underground looms up in my direction.

"Now what mastermind?"

"Have I ever failed to deliver? Take the train."

"Who runs the train? Leaper express?!"

"Get ready Nilin, it's tricky. You might face some leapers inside."

I get on the train, still marveling at the thought of how an abandoned train can run along the tracks on its own.

"Odd…"


End file.
